


by the lamplight

by mysterymistakes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Catboy!Linhardt, Feline Features, M/M, Non-Human Features, Teasing, ass eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterymistakes/pseuds/mysterymistakes
Summary: “I assume you came looking for me with the objective of taking me back to your room,” Linhardt continued, oblivious, “and now you’ve found me. As you can see, I’m currently occupied, so whatever you were planning is going to have to wait until a midnight tryst.” He freed himself enough to stand and got up with a deep sigh, halfheartedly rearranging his clothes, which were sticking to him with a vengeance. Sylvain was fixated. Linhardt huffed. “Is there something unusual about my hair?”“You’ve got, um.” Sylvain said, opening and closing his mouth like an idiot, because how do you break something like this to someone, “Um.” He waived a hand over his own head. “Cat ears?”Linhardt has a habit of letting his experiments go wrong, just to see what happens.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	by the lamplight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ichigobun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichigobun/gifts).



The thing about Linhardt was that, when something went wrong, or south, or sour, he took it in stride. Such was the way of experiments, he would say to anyone who asked, and mumble about how he didn’t have the energy to get angry about things. After all, he worked in magic; his prevailing theory was that if it all went downhill, there was probably something interesting waiting at the bottom.

If you’d casually mentioned to Sylvain a week ago that, because Linhardt works in magic and he lets things go downhill just to see what happens, that Linhardt had come to acquire some feline features, odds are he would’ve zipped off in whatever direction he’d seen him last to get him to do the experiment early. But, nobody had told either of them that such would be the outcome on this fine evening in late summer, so it was up to Sylvain to wander in through the heavy, arched double-doors to the library and find Linhardt, quite literally, buried beneath a pile of dark magic tomes he’d hauled up from below the monastery, and covered in the odd, oily-slick sheen that’s left behind when magic goes wrong. Sylvain could see one foot sticking out from beneath the pile of books, and snatches of pale skin peeking out from between various pamphlets. A hand appeared, followed shortly by an arm, and then the rest of Linhardt. He groaned miserably. Without looking up, he started carefully unearthing himself, making fruitless attempts to wipe clean the books and their covers of the residue.

“Sylvain. Is there something I can help you with?” Sylvain opened his mouth, as he often did, to say something just flirty and witty enough to take the first step towards coaxing Linhardt out of the library and in the direction of his room. Instead, nothing came out, because poor Sylvain was glued in place. The light in the library was low; it was late, and most of the lamps had been diffused for the night, but through the few remaining flames in the corner where Linhardt had been working, he could see that, of all things, _cat ears_ had sprouted from Linhardt’s head. Emeraldine, silky-soft cat ears that perfectly matched his silky-soft hair, fully operational and entirely attached, with long black tufts coming from the tops of them. They subtly swiveled back and forth to scoop up every little sound that Sylvain wasn’t making. “I assume you came looking for me with the objective of taking me back to your room,” Linhardt continued, oblivious, “and now you’ve found me. As you can see, I’m currently occupied, so whatever you were planning is going to have to wait until a midnight tryst.” He freed himself enough to stand and got up with a deep sigh, halfheartedly rearranging his clothes, which were sticking to him with a vengeance. Sylvain was fixated. Linhardt huffed. “Is there something unusual about my hair?”

“You’ve got, um.” Sylvain said, opening and closing his mouth like an idiot, because how do you break something like this to someone, “Um.” He waived a hand over his own head. “Cat ears?” Linhardt’s eyebrows shot up. Carefully, like he might scare them away, he lifted his hands to the crown of his head. He delicately caught one ear, then the other, between his thumbs and forefingers, and his lips parted just the tiniest bit. He shivered when he gripped them more firmly, tugged them some. They didn’t go anywhere. With a sharp intake of breath, Linhardt started rummaging around his workspace, muttering something about _my journal, where’s my journal_ , and then he made the grave mistake of bending over at the waist. He’d long since shed his weighty daytime robes for his light undershirt and pants, so when he leaned over, Sylvain had a clear view of where they parted at the small of his back. Just between the dimples at the base of his spine that Sylvain so loved to press his thumbs into, was a tail to match the ears, deep green with a black tip, that idly swished back and forth. He reached out and gave it a light yank, and oh, my, was the reaction lovely.

Linhardt _shook_. His eyes went wide, his mouth went slack, and he made an enticing choked-off noise, the kinds of which he typically only made when he’d been teased to high heaven and Sylvain finally laid a hand on his cock. The tail beneath Sylvain’s fingers was firm, but flexible, and so, so soft. It mindlessly curled around his wrist. Sylvain yanked it again, a touch more roughly. This time, Linhardt let out a sweet gasp, and a drop of spittle landed on the ornate floor.

“I…” Linhardt choked again, swallowed his words. Slowly, he stood straight and turned, eyes boring a hole where his traitorous tail was wrapped around Sylvain, who smiled, smug and annoying.

“What was that you were saying about waiting for a midnight tryst?” Sylvain said; it was late enough anyway that nobody in their right minds would come bother them, anyway. Gently, he smoothed his hand along the length of Linhardt’s tail, weaving it between his fingers as he went. For someone who was looking more and more debauched by the second, eyes glassing over and panting, Linhardt really did his best to try and glare at Sylvain.

“It appears there’s been a change of plans.” He stated, with as much conviction as he could, before pressing up and into Sylvain, licking at the seam of his lips. Sylvain brought one hand up into Linhardt’s hair to pull out the already-failing bun at the back of his head, dark green strands falling lightly around his face and across his shoulders, and the other to just below the base of his tail. His tongue was hot and rough, and Sylvain growled, sliding his hand from the back of Linhardt’s head to thumb at the petal-pink, spit-slick curve of his bottom lip, pulling it down to reveal a set of particularly pointy incisors.

“Open up,” Sylvain said, and he did, let him run the pad of his thumb along the sharp, pearly point, push farther in to feel the bristly tongue among the silky softness of his mouth. Linhardt hollowed his cheeks and sucked, looking up from under his lashes, glowing and vixenlike. Sylvain shivered. He could see himself becoming addicted to the sensation, slave to the dichotomy between Linhardt’s lips and tongue, warm and wet and so easy to get lost in. The already-present heat that had settled itself quite nicely in the base of his abdomen flared aggressively.

“As much as I would love to get your mouth on me,” Sylvain said, low in his ear and watching as his voice traveled in a shiver down Linhardt’s spine, “I’m sure your tongue would feel wonderful, but… I’m more interested in _this._ ” With a firm hand, he grabbed the base of the tail and squeezed, not so much that it was painful but enough so that Linhardt’s mouth dropped open, releasing Sylvain’s thumb to smear his own saliva across his cheek. His knees buckled, and he fell forward into Sylvain’s firm chest with a wanton moan. Linhardt’s breath landed in hot puffs across his collarbone, pressed close, wanting, warm.

“What do you want?”

“I…” Linhardt gasped, Sylvain gently tugging at his tail. It was raw, unadulterated lust, each little touch making his cock weep. He was hard, so, so hard, leaking where he was pressed between the rough linen of his pants and Sylvain. He wanted anything, god, whatever would get him off- “Please,” He looked up into Sylvain’s honeyed eyes. Everything had gone hazy with lust.

“Do you want me to eat you out?” Sylvain proposed, and Linhardt moaned his assent. That sounded wonderful, to be fucked by Sylvain’s hot, wet mouth until it became too much and he spilled white. “Over the table for me, _kitten._ ” Sylvain nipped at the lobe of Linhardt’s ear, and _oh,_ the way that nickname ripped through him was reprehensible. Linhardt, worked up enough to want to please, did as he was told, and bent over the cool wood of the glossy, polished reading table and arched his back to present himself. His tail had again curled itself around Sylvain’s forearm, and pulled damningly when he moved to slide Linhardt’s pants to the ground. He was sweating, hot all over like he was a teenager, shivering at each little touch and barely able to string sounds together, and then Sylvain went down on him like a man starving. Linhardt yowled, fucking _yowled,_ greedy and primal and ripping itself from his chest and out into the empty darkness of the library. Sylvain was an expert with his tongue, pressing his way into Linhardt, his velveteen heat, drool spilling down the backs of his bare thighs, coaxing his body into eagerly softening for him. He was racing towards the precipice at a breakneck pace, nerves on fire and panting and voicing his pleasure in a way he almost never did because it was so good, so intense, and then, and _then-_ Sylvain pulled his tail taught, and Linhardt came harder than he had in his life. White painted the floors, dripped down past his cock to join the spit running down his thighs. Sylvain smoothed his hands up to press his thumbs into the divots that now bracketed his tail, peppering gentle kisses up along his spine. Slowly, Linhardt made to peel himself from the table. Something wet trailed down his cheek- was he _crying?_

“How was that?” Sylvain asked, mouthing at the nape of his neck.

“Good.” Linhardt sighed.

“Lovely.” Linhardt could feel the devious grin pressing into his skin, “We’re just getting started.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to [Bun](https://twitter.com/softmatchabun) for commissioning this! it was a whole lot of fun to write. you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/mysterymistakes)!


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